Lustrum

by Robert Harris

  I must have drifted off myself. At any rate, the next thing I remember is a hand on my shoulder and a voice hissing in my ear that there were men on the bridge. Straining my eyes into the darkness, I heard the sound of the horses' hoofs before I could make out the shapes of the riders – five, ten men or more, crossing at a leisurely pace. 'This is it!' whispered Flaccus, jamming on his helmet, and with surprising speed for a man of his girth, he jumped down the stairs three at a time and ran out on to the road. As I ran after him I heard whistles and a trumpet blaring, and legionaries with drawn swords and some with torches began appearing from all directions and surging on to the bridge. The oncoming horses shied and stopped. A man yelled out that they must fight their way through. He spurred his horse and charged our line, heading straight for the spot where I was standing, slashing right and left with his sword. Someone next to me reached out to grab his reins, and to my amazement I saw the outstretched hand cleanly severed and land almost at my feet. Its owner screamed and the rider, realising there were too many to hack his way past, wheeled around and headed back the way he had come. He shouted to the others to follow, and the entire party now attempted to retreat towards Rome. But Pomptinus's men were flooding on to the bridge from the opposite side. We could see their torches and hear their excited cries. All of us ran in pursuit – even I, my fear entirely forgotten in my desire to seize those letters before they could be thrown into the river.

  By the time we reached the middle of the bridge, the fighting was almost over. The Gauls, distinctive by their long hair and beards and their wild dress, were throwing down their weapons and dismounting; they must have been expecting an ambush such as this. Soon only the impetuous rider who had tried to break past us was still in his saddle, urging his companions to show some resistance. But it turned out they were slaves, with no stomach for a fight: they knew that even to raise a hand against a Roman citizen would mean crucifixion. One by one they surrendered. Eventually their leader also threw down his bloodied sword, then I saw him bend and hurriedly begin unfastening the straps of his saddlebag, at which I had the rare presence of mind to dart forward and seize the bag. He was young and very strong and almost managed to hurl it into the river, and would have done so had not other willing hands reached up and dragged him off his horse. I guess these men must have been friends of the soldier whose hand he had cut off, for they gave him quite a kicking before Flaccus wearily intervened and told them to stop. He was dragged up by his hair and Pomptinus, who knew him, identified him as Titus Volturcius, a knight from the town of Croton. I meanwhile had his bag in my hand, and I called over a soldier with a torch so that I could search it properly. Inside were six letters, all sealed.

  I sent a messenger at once to Cicero to tell him that our mission had borne fruit. Then, once our prisoners had all been bound with their hands behind their backs and roped in a line at the neck – all except the Gauls, who were treated with the respect due to ambassadors – we started back to Rome.

  We entered the city just before dawn. A few people were already up. They stopped and gawped at our sinister little procession as we crossed the forum and headed up the hill to Cicero's house. We left the prisoners outside in the street under close guard. Inside, the consul received us flanked by Quintus and Atticus. He listened to the praetors' accounts, thanked them warmly, and then asked to see Volturcius. He was pushed and dragged in, looking bruised and frightened, and immediately launched into some absurd story about being asked by Umbrenus to convey the Gauls out of the city, and at the last moment being given some letters to carry, and not knowing their contents.

  'Then why did you put up such a fight on the bridge?' demanded Pomptinus.

  'I thought you were highwaymen.'

  'Highwaymen in army uniform? Commanded by praetors?'

  'Take the villain away,' ordered Cicero, 'and don't bring him back until he's ready to tell the truth.'

  After the prisoner had been dragged out, Flaccus said, 'We need to act quickly, before the news is all over Rome.'

  'You're right,' agreed Cicero. He asked to see the letters and we examined them together. Two I easily recognised as belonging to the urban praetor, Lentulus Sura: his seal included a portrait of his grandfather, who had been consul a century earlier. The other four we worked out from the names on our lists as probably having come from the young senator Cornelius Cethegus, and the three knights Capito, Statilius and Caeparius. The praetors watched us impatiently.

  'Surely there's an easy way to settle this?' said Pomptinus. 'Why don't we just open the letters?'

  'That would be tampering with evidence,' replied Cicero, continuing his minute perusal of the letters.

  'With respect, Consul,' growled Flaccus, 'we're wasting time.'

  I realise now of course that wasting time was precisely Cicero's intention. He knew how awkward his position would be if he had to decide the conspirators' fate. He was giving them a final chance to flee. His preferred solution was still for them to be dealt with by the army in battle. But he could only delay for so long, and eventually he told us to go and fetch them. 'Mind you, I don't want them arrested,' he cautioned. 'Simply tell them the consul would be grateful for an opportunity to clear up a few matters, and ask them to come and see me.'

  The praetors clearly thought he was being feeble but they did as they were commanded. I was sent to accompany Flaccus to the homes of Sura and Cethegus, who lived on the Palatine; Pomptinus went off to locate the others. I remember how odd it felt to approach Lentulus Sura's grand ancestral house and discover life there going on entirely as normal. He had not fled; quite the opposite. His clients were waiting patiently in the public rooms to see him. When he heard we were at the door, he sent out his stepson, Mark Antony, to discover what we wanted. Antony was then just twenty, very tall and strong, with a fashionable goatee beard and a face still thickly covered in pimples. It was the first time I had ever met him, and I wish I could remember more about this encounter, but I'm afraid all I can recall are his spots. He went off and gave his stepfather the message, and returned to say that the praetor would call on the consul as soon as he had finished his morning levee.

  It was the same story at the home of Caius Cethegus, that fiery young patrician who, like his kinsman Sura, was a member of the Cornelian clan. Petitioners were queuing to talk to him, but he at least paid us the compliment of coming into the atrium himself. He looked Flaccus up and down as if he were a stray dog, heard what he had to say, and replied that it was not his habit to go running to anyone when called, but out of respect for the office, if not the man, he would attend on the consul very shortly.

  We went back to Cicero, who was clearly amazed to hear that the two senators were still in Rome. 'What are they thinking of ?' he muttered to me.

  In fact it turned out that only one of the five – Caeparius, a knight from Terracina – had actually run away from the city. The rest all arrived separately at Cicero's house over the next hour or so, such was their supreme confidence that they were untouchable. I often wonder when it was they started to realise that they had made an appalling miscalculation. Was it when they reached the street where Cicero lived and discovered it jammed with armed men, prisoners and curious onlookers? Was it when they went inside to find not just Cicero but the two consuls-elect, Silanus and Murena, and the principal leaders of the senate – Catulus, Isauricus, Hortensius, Lucullus and several others – all of whom Cicero had summoned to witness proceedings? Or was it, perhaps, when they saw their letters laid out on the table, with the seals unbroken? Or noticed the Gauls being treated as honoured guests in an adjoining room? Or was it when Volturcius abruptly changed his mind and decided to save himself by testifying against them, in return for the promise of a pardon? I imagine it might have felt rather like drowning – a dawning realisation that they had ventured out of their depth, and were being carried further and further away from the shore with every passing moment. Only when Volturcius accused Cethegus to his face of boasting that he would murder Cicero a
nd then storm the senate house did Cethegus at last jump to his feet and declare he would not stay here and listen to this a moment longer. But he found his exit blocked by two legionaries of the Reate century, who returned him very forcefully to his chair.

  Cicero turned to his new star witness. 'And what about Lentulus Sura? What exactly did he say to you?'

  'He said that the Sibylline Books had prophesied that Rome would be ruled by three members of the Cornelian family; that Cinna and Sulla had been the first two; and that he himself was the third and would soon be master of the city.'

  'Is this true, Sura?' But Sura made no reply and merely stared straight ahead, blinking rapidly. Cicero sighed. 'An hour ago you could have left the city unmolested. Now I'd be as guilty as you are if I dared to let you go.' He beckoned to the soldiers standing in the atrium. They filed in and stationed themselves in pairs behind the conspirators.

  'Open Sura's letters!' cried Catulus, who could not contain his fury any longer at this betrayal of the republic by the direct descendant of one of the six founding families of Rome. 'Open the letters and let's discover how far the treasonous swine was prepared to go!'

  'Not yet,' said Cicero. 'We'll do that in front of the senate.' He looked sadly at the conspirators who were now his prisoners. 'Whatever happens, I don't want anyone ever to be able to say I forged evidence or coerced testimony.'

  It was now the middle of the morning. Incongruously, the house was starting to fill with flowers and greenery in preparation for the annual ceremony of the Good Goddess, over which Terentia was due to preside that night as the wife of the senior magistrate. As slaves carried in baskets of mistletoe, myrtle and winter roses, Cicero issued a decree that the senate should meet that afternoon not in their usual chamber but in the Temple of Concordia, so that the spirit of the goddess of national harmony might guide their deliberations. He also gave orders that a newly completed statue of Jupiter, originally destined for the Capitol, should be put up at once in the forum in front of the rostra. 'I shall surround myself with a bodyguard of deities,' he said to me. 'Because mark my words, by the time this is over, I may well have need of all the protection I can get.'

  The five conspirators were kept under guard in the atrium while Cicero went to his study to question the Gauls. Their testimony was, if anything, even more damning than that of Volturcius, for it turned out that just before leaving Rome, the ambassadors had been taken to the house of Cethegus and shown a stockpile of weapons that were to be distributed when the signal for the massacre was given. I was sent along with Flaccus to make an inventory of this arsenal, which we discovered in the tablinum, stacked in boxes from floor to ceiling. The swords and knives were unused, gleaming and of a curious curved design, with strange carvings on their hilts. Flaccus said they looked foreign-made to him. I rested my thumb on the blade of one sword. It was as sharp as a razor, and I thought with a shiver that not only might Cicero's throat have been cut with it, but very probably mine as well.

  By the time I had finished examining the boxes and returned to Cicero's house, it was time to leave for the senate. The downstairs rooms were festooned with sweet-smelling flora, and numerous amphorae of wine were being carried in from the street. Clearly, whatever other mysteries it might entail, the ceremony of the Good Goddess was not abstemious. Terentia drew her husband to one side and embraced him. I could not hear what she said, and nor did I try to, but I did see her take his arm and grip it fiercely. Then we set off, surrounded by legionaries, with each conspirator escorted down to the Temple of Concordia by a man of consular rank. They were all very subdued now; even Cethegus had lost his arrogance. None of us knew what to expect. As we entered the forum, Cicero took Sura by the hand as a mark of respect, but the patrician appeared too dazed by events to notice. I was walking just behind them, carrying the box of letters. What was remarkable was not so much the size of the crowds – needless to say, almost the entire population had flocked to the forum to watch what was going on – but their complete silence.

  The temple was ringed by armed men. The waiting senators looked on in amazement as they saw Cicero leading Sura. Once inside, the conspirators were locked into a small storeroom near the entrance, while Cicero went straight to the makeshift dais where his chair had been placed beneath the statue of Concordia. 'Gentlemen,' he began, 'earlier today, shortly before first light, the gallant praetors Lucius Flaccus and Gaius Pomptinus, acting on my orders, at the head of a large body of armed men, apprehended a group of riders on the Mulvian Bridge heading in the direction of Etruria …' Nobody whispered; nobody even coughed. It was a silence such as I had never heard before in the senate – fearful, ominous, oppressive. Occasionally I was able to glance up from my note-taking at Caesar and Crassus. Both men were leaning forward in their seats, concentrating on Cicero's every word. 'Thanks to the loyalty of our allies, the envoys of the Gauls, who were appalled by what was proposed, I had already received warning of the treasonous activities of some of our fellow citizens, and was able to take the necessary precautions …'

  When the consul finished his account, which included a description of the plot to set fire to parts of the city and massacre many senators and other prominent figures, there was a kind of collective sigh or groan.

  'The question now arises, gentlemen, of what we are supposed to do with these villains. I propose that as a first step we consider the evidence against the accused, and hear what they have to say for themselves. Send in the witnesses!'

  The four Gauls entered first. They looked around them in wonder at the long rows of white-robed senators, whose appearance was such a dramatic contrast with their own. Titus Volturcius came in next, trembling so much he could hardly walk down the aisle. Once they were in position, Cicero called out to Flaccus, who was stationed at the entrance: 'Bring in the first of the prisoners!'

  'Which do you wish to question first?' Flaccus shouted in reply.

  'Whichever is to hand,' said Cicero grimly, and so it was that Cethegus, escorted by a pair of guards, was brought from the storeroom to the far end of the temple, where Cicero waited. Finding himself before an audience of his peers, the young senator recovered some of his old spirit. He almost sauntered down the aisle, and when the consul showed him the letters and asked him to identify which seal was his, he picked it up casually.

  'This one is mine, I believe.'

  'Give it to me.'

  'If you insist,' said Cethegus, handing it over. 'I must say, I was always taught it was the height of bad manners for one gentleman to read another gentleman's mail.'

  Cicero ignored him, broke open the letter and read it out loud: 'From Caius Cornelius Cethegus to Catugnatus, chief of the Allobroges – greetings! By this letter I give you my word that I and my companions will keep the promises we have made to your envoys, and that if your nation rises against your unjust oppressors in Rome, it will have no more loyal allies than us.'

  On hearing this, the assembled senators let out a great bellow of outrage. Cicero held up his hand. 'Is this your writing?' he asked Cethegus.

  The young senator, clearly taken aback by his reception, mumbled something I could not hear.

  'Is this your writing?' repeated Cicero. 'Speak up!'

  Cethegus hesitated, then said quietly, 'It is.'

  'Well, young man, clearly we had different tutors, for I was always taught that the true height of bad manners was not reading another man's mail, but plotting treason with a foreign power! Now,' continued Cicero, consulting his notes, 'at your house this morning we discovered an armoury of a hundred swords and the same number of daggers. What do you have to say for yourself ?'

  'I'm a collector of weapons—' began Cethegus. He may have been trying to be witty; if he was, it was a foolish joke, and also his last. The rest of his words were lost in the angry protests that came from every corner of the temple.

  'We've heard enough from you,' said Cicero. 'Your guilt is self-confessed. Take him away and bring in the next.'

  Cethegus was led o
ff, not quite so jaunty now, and Statilius was marched down the aisle. The same process was repeated: he identified his seal, the letter was broken open and read (the language was almost identical to that used by Cethegus), he confirmed that the handwriting was his; but when he was asked to explain himself, he claimed that the letter was not meant seriously.

  'Not meant seriously?' repeated Cicero in wonder. 'An invitation to an alien tribe to slaughter Roman men, women and children – not meant seriously?' Statilius could only hang his head.

  Capito's turn followed, with the same result, and then Caeparius made a dishevelled appearance. He was the one who had tried to escape at dawn, but he had been captured on his way to Apulia with messages for the rebel forces. His confession was the most abject of all. Finally there remained only Lentulus Sura to confront, and this was a moment of great drama, for you must remember that Sura was not only the urban praetor, and therefore the third most powerful magistrate in the state, but also a former consul: a man in his middle fifties of the most distinguished lineage and appearance. As he entered, he looked around with appealing eyes at colleagues he had sat with for a quarter of a century in the highest council of the state, but none would meet his gaze. With great reluctance he identified the last two letters, both of which bore his seal. The one to the Gauls was the same as those that had been read out earlier. The second was addressed to Catilina. Cicero broke it open.

  'You will know who I am from the bearer of this message,' he read. 'Be a man. Remember how critical your position is. Consider what you must now do and enlist aid wherever you find it – even from the lowest of the low.' Cicero held out the letter to Sura. 'Your writing?'